


Breakdown

by soongtypeprincess



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pining, Tears, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 01:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: Demons don't cry...at least, they're not allowed. But Crowley is different.





	Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a head canon that an anon sent me on Tumblr and I just had to write it.
> 
> I do not own these characters!

** _Crawly could not cry. _ **

But he was angry, at the angel, at The Great Plan...at God.

The rain was falling harder now as children ran past him. They frolicked in the forming puddles and laughed as they splashed each other. 

They did not know their fate, these innocent babes waiting for the slaughter. He wanted to save them; that would be a defiant act, wouldn’t it? To go against God once more, saving the children She planned to drown because their parents were wicked? Wouldn’t defying Her be noticed by his side, interfering with her Plan, snatching the lambs from Her altar?

It would be noticed, but only as a good deed. Crawly was a demon. He was shackled to his duties, bound by his oath as a fallen one. He could not even weep, because weeping was reserved for the damned.

If that was so, then he deserved the burning that was in his eyes. He blinked and a tear fell onto his skin, searing his flesh.

He crept past the children and found his way onto higher ground. When he could no longer hear them, he transformed and burrowed deep, deep into the sand. 

Serpents were immune to tears.

** _Crowley could not cry._ **

But he was afraid as he rushed into the burning bookshop.

The angel was gone. That comfortable sensation that filled Crowley’s chest when Aziraphale was near was not there, leaving him empty. He was weak in the flames, a force of nature he knew well, but his legs were tired and he let the fire hoses bring him down.

What would he have done anyway? He couldn’t tell in the haze if it was Hellfire, but he screamed, he cursed them all! The bastards! They would forever remind him of the chains around his neck, the ones reserved for the fallen. He could never break them and no one could ever free him.

But Aziraphale...the angel had come so close. 

He found the book and wiped his left eye. The single tear left a red mark on his knuckles and evaporated into steam.

** _Crowley could not cry._ **

But he became helpless the moment the earth shook.

This was the end. 

He looked up at the angel, the liquid heat brimming in his eyes. No more books, films, comfy sofas, dinner at the Ritz. No more walks in the park, no more wine, and no chance for that picnic.

His eyes grew wet, a slick burning that nearly blinded him, but he couldn’t move. The force of Hell was holding him down, as it always did.

Aziraphale picked up his sword and begged him to fight, and he made a threatening vow that urged the demon resist the force that had brought him to his knees.

The heat in his eyes dissipated and Crowley flung himself upward and time stopped.

He was with the angel and the boy now; everything had disappeared. They promised to stand beside him, beside each other, forming a new Arrangement as the three of them clasped hands.

** _Crowley could not cry._ **

But he was relieved when the angel sat next to him on the bus home and gently took his hand. He shut his eyes tight, anticipating the burn.

This is what he had always wanted, something to ensure the connection between them was real. Aziraphale held his hand, as if he had done it several times before, and his love flowed through Crowley like a rushing stream.

He sniffed back his burning tears and the angel squeezed his hand. 

“Rest, my dear. It will be alright.”

He placed his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and exhaled.

A single tear singed the angel’s lapel.

** _Crowley could not cry. _ **

But he feared the worst. Where was Aziraphale? Surely, the trial would not take that long. They had planned this so carefully, where could he be? Crowley sighed and gripped the armrest of the park bench.

“Hello, darling,” came a soft voice beside him.

He turned to see...his face, yes, but it was the angel smiling back at him.

Crowley grinned and offered his hand. They passed through one another, like a breeze over the stillness of a pond. The heaviness that was placed inside of him thousands of years ago, since his fall, since the Flood, since the day before, had melted away. He was suddenly lighter.

He felt the last of the angel flow out of his fingertips, making them warm.

He flexed them to savor it before it faded.

When Aziraphale cracked a joke about asking for a towel, Crowley lent back his head and laughed.

For the first time in his existence, he felt genuine.

** _Crowley could not cry._ **

But he did. 

Because the angel kissed him.

Crowley fell again but the angel caught him and embraced him, holding him close. His soft, pure lips pressed upon his quivering mouth and blessed him with the holiest of gifts.

And then he felt  _ fire _ .

Crowley tore himself out of the Aziraphale’s arms and covered his eyes. How they burned! How they ached! 

Was this to be his end? Would an angel’s kiss, one that he had hoped for these many, many years, be the very thing to destroy him? 

He could laugh at the irony of it all, but more tears came instead. 

He groaned as he picked himself off the floor and rushed to the washroom, slamming the door behind him. He splashed icy water onto his face and steam hissed through his fingers.

If he opened his eyes, what would he see? Would he see anything at all? Would this be his undoing?

And Aziraphale? Crowley would rather die in this agony alone than for the angel to see what his love had done to him.

He consented to it, after all, and the forces of Hell had come to drag him back to them, to throw him into the deepest pit they had, shackling him once more to the darkness because he allowed an angel to love him.

He waited for the ground to tremble, for it to spew forth and pull him onto his belly, the wicked serpent that deigned to cry.

Crowley opened his eyes and looked in the mirror.

A frightened pair of golden eyes stared back at him, his fiery sclera filling them entirely. But he could see, even through the blur of red-hot tears, he could see his face.

It was covered with burns. His tears had left scars that now lined his face.

But he was still standing.

The door opened slowly behind him and he hung his head.

“Crowley? Please look at me.”

He turned and lifted his eyes to Aziraphale and his breath hitched.

Lines of pure gold had cascaded from his eyes and marked his perfect face.

Aziraphale sighed, relieved. “Darling, are you alright? I’m sorry! I didn’t realize the danger--oh, love! What did I do to you?”

Crowley watched a new golden tear fall from his left eye, and he pulled him closer, kissing him again.

He felt a thumb on his cheek and started. “Angel, wait--!”

But all was well; Aziraphale’s thumb only held a small blot of a burn.

He grinned and Crowley embraced him, pressing his wet cheek to his.

Suddenly, the burning was soothed. He felt coolness rush over him and his tears were gone, as well as the scars on his face.

He pulled back and wiped his palm across his cheek. 

He gazed down at it to find it was covered in glittering gold and smelled like young roses.

** _Crowley could cry._ **

Because his tears were no longer like flames. They no longer left him with slow-healing scars. He didn’t fight anymore when the tears came.

Because the angel loved him.

Crowley could cry because he was free.


End file.
